


Those Left Behind

by Amandyalmonds



Series: A Cup of Tea [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, John Not Coping, M/M, Violins, after season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9272681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amandyalmonds/pseuds/Amandyalmonds
Summary: It's been a few weeks since Sherlock Holmes jumped off a building and left John alone.Alice has been giving John his space, but it's time to pick up the pieces.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I've had since I finished the main story, but didn't know how to wrap it up. It's mainly a transitional drabble that takes places between seasons 2 and 3. I have more of the story for what happens when Sherlock comes back planned out, but I needed this piece to stand alone as a way to show just how different things can turn out when someone-anyone-is there. Like, John had no one, family, friends, anything after Sherlock "died" and that's an idea in which I wondered what would have happened differently if he'd had someone to pick him up and help him through it all. So this is the transition to get to that different outcome I guess.

I tentatively knocked on his door, my face a bit hot from the awkward conversation I'd had with Mrs. Hudson after she let me inside the building. 

It was terribly odd to see the door to their-

His.

Not 'their' flat.  Not anymore.

Damn pronouns.

I looked at the ground as I waited, my hands sweaty as they gripped the other tightly.  I heard a shuffle, a sigh of feet, a crack of joints, and then the door opened.

"Oh.  Alice.  What...what are you doing here?"  John asked with some trouble, a crease on his forehead appearing as he frowned.  I tried to not stare at the weight he'd managed to lose in only a few weeks.  Everyone coped differently, I knew.  But he hadn't been answering my texts or calls and I knew from personal experience that having the option to let everything out on another person's shoulder was a blessing.

God knows that I didn't have anyone to do that for me when my father died. 

So it was the least I could do for him. 

"John...I was worried.  May I come in?"  I hesitantly asked, trying not to sound too rude.  I knew it was after work for the both of us (if John had even gone back to work yet) so at least I couldn't be interrupting that.  John stared at me for a moment and then sighed, waving me inside. 

"Sure, I was just making myself a cuppa.  I can make you one too?"

"That would be lovely, thanks."  I replied before stepping inside and sliding off my coat, hanging it up and trying not to stare at Sherlock's coat beside John's.  I couldn't stop myself from running my hands through the fabric though, breathing deeply as if that would bring back the man and the memories. 

When I turned around and took in their -no, his- room, my breath caught in my throat.  Nothing looked different.  Sherlock's things were still strewn about, though a touch tidier.  Piles of papers and books sat on the table, his chair still faced John's. 

A fresh wave of grief welled up in me and I had to gulp it down before the tears could start to show.  I gripped the chain around my neck and composed myself as John walked back into the room.  Things suddenly felt awkward between us, in this room.  I turned around as he stood behind his chair, gripping the back of it like it was a life-vest. 

"John I-"

"You should take a seat."  He spoke over me, giving me a pained smile as he motioned to Sherlock's chair before he went back to get the whistling kettle.  I glanced at the chair and then sat on the sofa.  That chair was Sherlock's, and despite everything I knew it would never be called otherwise.  It felt wrong to sit there; I could picture Sherlock grimacing at me and shooing me off. 

John came back in the room with two cups of tea and handed one to me after a small pause when he saw where I was sitting.  I murmured a soft thanks before I held it in my lap and tried again.

"John...I-"

"I don't want to hear you apologize." John said, cutting me off again with a pained look at the ground.  I swallowed thickly and forced myself to look up from his feet. 

"I wasn't going to say I was sorry."  His gaze snapped up at this.  "I know how much that doesn't help, I'm not going to offer it to you."  He visibly relaxed into his seat at this, and rubbed one hand across his face.

"Just...thanks for that Alice.  I can't stand the people that keep coming up to me and saying that.  It's even worse when it's just random strangers off the street that only knew him from the news."  I inwardly flinched at that, sorry he had to deal with it.  But I had to get back to my point. 

"What I was going to say was that I'm here if you need someone to talk to." I said before taking a small sip of my tea.  John opened his mouth to say something before slowly closing it and giving me a thankful nod.  I gave him a small smile in return and then let the silence drift out and envelop us.  I couldn't stop staring at everything in the room, everything that reminded me -and most likely John- of Sherlock.  It was around then that I noticed the many take-out boxes strewn about the room. 

"Have you gone back to work yet?" I slowly asked as I looked back at him, ignoring the twinge of grief I felt when my eyes had swept over Sherlock's violin.  I would never forget the night he played for me.  (Well honestly, it was for John but I had been sleeping on the sofa and he'd continued once I'd woken up.)  John stiffened and ran his fingers over the rim of his teacup. 

"...not yet.  Sarah's asking for me to come back in a few days but..." His voice trailed off and his eyes lost their focus.  I frowned and took another sip of tea.

"Have you talked to any of your friends since the funeral?  Greg? Molly? Anyone?"  I asked, the words feeling hollow and dead in my mouth.  Mechanical.

"No.  I just couldn't bring myself to see them."  He said stiffly.  I glanced at my tea, the room around us, and then set it down with a sharp clack.  John eyed me curiously as I swiftly stood, striding over to him and holding out my hand.

"Come on."

"What?"

"Get up.  We're going to throw all these take-out things away and then we're going to a pub to sit and drink and be sentimental and get you back into a routine."  I said with a firm nod as he gave me a shocked look. 

"But Alice-"

"No! Come on.  We're doing it.  Routine stuff will help the pain.  Talking will help and God knows if you don't you'll end up back at that old therapist that Sherlock told me was utter crap."  I said with a faint smirk at the end. John looked stunned, and then he gave a small laugh, standing up with a pained look.

"He did always say that she was utter rubbish." He said with another small chuckle before he glanced around and ran his one hand through his hair.  "Yeah, this place could do with a good cleaning."

"It's really quite the mess."  John laughed, and shook his head.  I smiled in return, before standing up to join him.

"Half of it's his fault though, don't blame it all on me."  John said as he started picking up the take-out boxes from the coffee table.  I moved to help, ignoring the mold gathered around the edges of some of the boxes as I piled them together.

"If I remember correctly, you're the one that let him get away with his half of the mess," I fondly said.  Hearing no response, I looked up from the moldy boxes to see John staring across the room.  I followed his gaze, my eyes landing on Sherlock's violin and the mess of papers around it.  Suddenly the pain was there again, fresh and new as I realized Sherlock would never pick up that violin again.  Would never finish John's song-

Had he finished that song?

"Alice?"  John asked as I set the boxes down and walked over to the violin, staring a moment longer before I looked at the dusty music stand.  There were new scores that I didn't recognize on top, and I thumbed through them.

"What are you doing?"  John asked as he walked over to me.  I finished looking through the scores, not seeing John's song.  _Oh._  

"N-nothing.  I was looking for something, that's all."  I was going to cry.  I looked away from John and out the window, watching the buildings across the street.  John stood beside me, looking at Sherlock's music before I took a breath and put on a smile.  "It's nothing to worry about."  Sharp needles in my throat, tears pricking my eyes.

"I know, Alice."  John's words hitched, breaking.  I didn't look at him, couldn't look at him.  I felt his hand rest on my arm and the moment when he started to shake.  "It's just so goddamn _hard_."  I placed a hand over his, gripping tightly back, my composure gone too.

"I know John, I know."  And we allowed ourselves that moment, holding onto one another tightly in the all too silent room. 


End file.
